Brownfield

wasteland

 

Brownfield

Groundsel grounds, where nettles nest
Between the tyres and scattered glass,
Where breeze-blown wrappers come to rest
Amid the hedgehog-hiding grass.

Round the corner from this waste
Are streets of white suburban palings –
But in here the bees make haste,
And foxes slink through rusty railings.

Snakes and lizards keep discreet
Amongst the clinker, bricks and stone.
But crickets, toads and parakeets
Still let their whereabouts be known.

Broken concrete catches rain,
Which lures the newts from nearby parks.
Mosquitos fill each pit and drain
With twitching ink-black question marks.

The bats all chase the moths all night,
The wrens all chase the flies all day,
The moles chase worms, but out of sight,
But slugs won’t run – they’re here to stay !

Ferrets stalking, hamsters feeding,
Both escapees from their pens.
Cats are courting, bugs are breeding,
Badgers building urban dens.

Spindly stalks with leaves too large –
Some saplings from the gardens near.
So will they get to swamp and barge,
And grow an urban forest here ?

But suddenly, this patch is gone,
As diggers turn it into town.
The residents will soon move on,
And find another field of brown.

 

 

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